


on gambles

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: dunder mifflin girls [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Office (US)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Faith wears her hair loose and long, curls that fall down her shoulders. She only sort of adheres to the dress code, always donning a leather jacket or popping a few buttons open on her button-down shirt. She’s got a flirtatious smile (not that Tara notices, because Tara doesn’t think of Faith in that way) and bright, dark eyes (and Tara only notices that because they’re always locking with hers) and she makes Tara feel something that she can’t quite define.(a btvs au, somewhat based on the office)





	

Tara’s not sure if she _likes_ her job. She feels the same sort of tired resignation at the front desk of Dunder Mifflin that she does when she comes home to dirty dishes and her fiancé asleep on the sofa, snoring too loudly, and she’s sure that’s not exactly the best sign. But there are things that are _nice_ about her job, and she doesn’t want them to get swept under the rug just because she’s bored with phone-answering.

“Coffee for the lady,” says Faith with an exaggerated bow, splashing some of the coffee onto Wesley’s desk. He looks up indignantly and starts going off about personal space and coffee being a hazard and does he have to make a demarcation line because he’s certainly not above it. Ignoring this, Faith comes forward, placing the mug on the counter and grinning when Tara takes it. In a low voice, she adds, “I’m thinking we put Wesley’s stapler in Jell-O.”

“We did that last week,” Tara points out quietly. “Maybe you should try some variation in your pranks.”

“I could move his desk,” Faith suggests. “A few inches towards the copier every time he goes to the bathroom.”

“Hmm.” Tara takes a sip of coffee. Faith’s put in just the right amount of cream, no sugar. Everyone seems to think that because Tara’s shy and quiet, she likes her coffee sweet, but Faith’s been the only one to ask. Tara likes that about Faith.

Tara likes a lot of things about Faith, actually.

“Perhaps you should consider _not_ wasting company time and instead making some paper sales,” says Wesley archly from his desk.

“Chill, Wesley, not everyone lives and breathes paper,” Faith volleys back before turning to Tara. “I’m gonna do it just for that,” she whispers conspiratorially, and the look in her eyes makes Tara’s stomach flutter a little. “He’s so pretentious.”

Tara giggles, and she’s about to say something in response, but then Xander comes over and needs some copies of a report. Faith hurries back to her desk with a last smile in Tara’s direction, and Tara doesn’t stop smiling back until Xander comments that it’s _weird_ to see her that chipper.

* * *

So yeah. Faith is nice. Spending time with Faith is nice. Roy says it’s good that she’s got a girlfriend in the office to talk to, and Tara agrees. Faith is funny, and wild, and she smiles at everyone, but somehow she’s got a special smile that’s just for Tara.

And it’s weird, because if Faith was a guy, Tara thinks Roy would be jealous. Or maybe Roy wouldn’t. Roy still doesn’t know not to put sugar in her coffee, and he gets a glazed look on his face if Tara starts _really_ talking. He says he liked it better when she was quiet, the way she was when they first met. He says she’s pretty when she smiles, but not the open-mouthed smile she gets when she’s happy. He likes her lips closed and upturned, her eyes sweet and listening.

Faith spent the first week she was there trying to get Tara to say more than a sentence to her, even though everyone said it was a lost cause (as if Tara couldn’t hear them). Faith told lots of bad jokes and just sat there, on the counter, and Tara’s still not super sure why Faith didn’t get fired during that first week, because she sure wasn’t working.

Tara used to take her break by herself, but Faith likes to take her break with other people, so Tara takes it then too. It’s a little nerve-wracking when Faith isn’t there, but Faith’s never not there for long.

“Is it weird to work in the same place as your fiancé?” Cordelia’s inquiring today. She’s in Customer Services, a one-person department, which is something of a relief. Cordelia makes Tara a little nervous, even if she is nice. “Because I love working with Xander, but if we were _engaged,_ it would start to feel like we’d just spend the rest of our lives in this place, you know? When Xander proposes to me, I think I’m going to pursue my acting career.”

“Oh boy,” says Buffy from the other table.

“Oh, don’t act all holier-than-thou, Buffy,” Cordelia shoots back.

“I’m s-sure you’ll be a great actress, Cordelia,” cuts in Tara, and smiles nervously, really wishing Faith would come back from microwaving her popcorn. “And, um, it’s not really that weird. Roy works downstairs, so I don’t see him that much.” She doesn’t say that she’s glad she doesn’t see him during the day, because Faith is always a little weird around Roy. She’s not sure what to do about it. She asked Faith to be her bridesmaid at the wedding, some kind of weird attempt at getting her to see Roy in a positive light, and that didn’t really go over well.

“I’d like to work in the same place as Fred,” says Willow-the-accountant with a dreamy little smile. Tara doesn’t know Willow all that well, but she does know Willow’s dating Fred, because Willow always seems to bring Fred up at every possible opportunity. “We could do accounts together. Fred’s an accountant at the Nashua branch, you know.”

“You’ve mentioned,” says Wesley indifferently.

Faith, who’s just come in, rolls her eyes as she sits down next to Tara. Then she says, “Hey, Wes, I think someone stole your desk.”

“ _What—_ ” Wesley leaps up from his chair, racing out of the break room. From the office, they hear a shout of “FAITH, THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!”

“Well, that takes care of that,” says Faith, and smiles at Tara. “You okay?”

“Yes,” says Tara, and smiles back, quite amused. Faith doesn’t have any popcorn. “So, Wesley’s desk is missing?”

“What a puzzling mystery,” says Faith, and wiggles her eyebrows significantly. Tara snorts. “Any new developments at reception?” Faith adds.

“I stapled a few memos about our card stock,” Tara replies as seriously as she can.

“The world needs hard workers like you, T,” Faith quips, and nudges Tara playfully with her shoulder. Tara looks down at her tuna sandwich with a smile and a bit of a blush.

* * *

Faith wears her hair loose and long, curls that fall down her shoulders. She only _sort_ of adheres to the dress code, always donning a leather jacket or popping a few buttons open on her button-down shirt. She’s got a flirtatious smile (not that Tara notices, because Tara doesn’t think of Faith in _that way_ ) and bright, dark eyes (and Tara only notices _that_ because they’re always locking with hers) and she makes Tara feel something that she can’t quite define.

Tara hasn’t had a friend like Faith before, one who listens to her without judgment. Roy never listened, and most of her family judged. Her mom didn’t, but her mom wasn’t Faith, who makes some wisecrack about Roy that makes Tara feel somehow lighter about the whole _wedding_ thing. It’s stressful to plan a wedding on your own, which is what she tells Faith one day as they walk down to Faith’s car.

“So he doesn’t help?” Faith says, crossing her arms in a way that accentuates her chest. Tara thinks of how Angela in accounting would say _shameful_ or _whorish_ and tries to pretend that that’s why her breath catches a little. “He should help, you know. It’s his wedding too.”

“It’s okay, really.” Tara smiles, tries to backtrack; she suddenly regrets bringing it up. It’s always a little strange to talk about wedding things with Faith, and she hasn’t yet figured out why. “He’s not super good with flower arrangements a-and things. I—feel better knowing I’m in charge of it.”

Faith looks at Tara and doesn’t say anything. Then, heavily, she says, “I just think he should help. Shouldn’t all be on you, you know?”

Tara forces another smile. Sometimes it feels like that’s all she does when she’s not with Faith, and she doesn’t like that she’s doing it now. She wants to think that she doesn’t have to keep things from Faith, but there’s a layer to their friendship that she doesn’t quite understand. “I do,” she says. “But I love him. S-so I make allowances.”

Something in Faith’s face shifts. “Yeah,” she says. “Look, I gotta get to my car. You should probably swing by, check on Roy. Bet he misses you.” She starts walking fast, almost running. Tara stands still and tries to place what she’s done wrong, because _something_ didn’t seem right.

Strong arms wrap around her waist from behind (she tenses) and she feels Roy press his lips to her hair, sloppy and playful. Like a puppy, she thinks. Puppies are cute, and Roy is too. _Puppies don’t do the dishes, either,_ she thinks, and wonders if Faith is rubbing off on her.

“Babe,” says Roy. “Me and the warehouse guys are heading down to Poor Richard’s. You’re gonna come?”

Sometimes Tara thinks that Roy adds the question mark at the end just to make her feel like she has a choice. “Yes,” she replies, and tries her best not to look back, but she hears Faith’s car peel out of the parking lot at an unusual speed.

* * *

Roy takes her hand as they enter the bar. Tara’s heard a lot of girls in high school gush about how _romantic_ it is when a guy holds your hand, lacing your fingers together, how it makes them feel so _secure,_ but Roy’s hand is large and it feels strange around hers. There’s probably just something wrong with Tara.

Her father always thought she was a nothing, and when she’d met Roy, he’d looked _at_ her instead of looking _through_ her. That’s what love was, wasn’t it? She should be so much more grateful and happy than she is, and she hates that she’s not. She’s always been ungrateful, it seems.

“Tara!” Willow’s sitting with a tall, sweet-faced girl, whose hand she’s holding on top of the table. She gestures for Tara to come sit with them.

“Um, I’ll—” Tara turns to Roy, but his grip has already slackened, and he’s watching a sports game on the bar TV with rapt attention. She smiles nervously at some of the warehouse guys nearby before heading over to the table, pulling up a chair next to Willow.

“This is Fred,” says Willow happily. The girl gives Willow a soppy smile before giving Tara a big, happy grin. “My girlfriend Fred. In a gay way, not a friend way. But she’s also my friend!”

Fred (who is a _girl_ ) giggles.

Tara feels a rush of something she doesn’t understand. Happiness, yes, but tangled up in there is the same kind of feeling she gets when Faith’s face closes off, or when she gets home to a messy house no one’s bothered to clean. She smiles as best she can and says, “It’s l-lovely to meet you, Fred.”

“Thanks,” says Fred cheerfully. She has a bit of a Southern twang that reminds Tara of her mom. “Drove down here from Nashua just to see milady,” here she gives Willow a little kiss on the cheek, “and meet all the people she’s told me about. You’re the pretty receptionist, right?”

“ _Fred,_ ” says Willow, and goes a little pink.

“Ooh, right, the pretty _engaged_ receptionist,” says Fred, eyes going almost comically wide. “Goodness me, you’ll have to excuse my motor mouth.” She presses a delicate hand to her mouth. Tara wonders why she’s noticing Fred’s hands when Fred’s clearly dating Willow.

Or, for that matter, why she’s noticing Fred’s hands when _she’s_ the engaged one.

Fred’s fingers are probably just aesthetically pretty. Or something. Tara clears her throat awkwardly before replying, “I-it’s fine. I don’t—it’s very flattering.” She manages a grin towards Willow, who gives her a relieved smile back. “Just—Willow never said anything about—”

“The gay thing?” Willow waves a hand. She looks a little tipsy, and it’s not clear whether it’s from the beer in front of her or the girl next to her. “I’m coming out today! It’s a very new thing. Super exciting. Little bit scary, you know, especially with _Angela_ breathing down my neck all the time, but Fred’s important to me.” She gives Fred a sweet, winning smile and Fred grins back.

It feels like Tara’s watching them kiss, what with all the love in their eyes, and she’s not sure why it’s making her feel so sick and nervous. She’s not a homophobe, and she’s never considered the concept of loving a woman a _bad_ one, it’s just—strange. She never considered the option.

She manages to talk to Willow and Fred. They’re very happy, and she’s happy for them too, but there’s another feeling she still can’t put her finger on. Angela comes over halfway through and makes a lot of disapproving _hmm_ noises when Willow introduces Fred, but Willow meets Angela’s eyes with a bravery that Tara envies.

She tries to imagine having a girlfriend and looking adversity in the eye like that, and then tries to imagine having a girlfriend. She nearly drops her mug when she realizes that Faith is the imaginary girlfriend next to her, glaring at Angela in the same way she does anyone who talks smack about Tara.

“You okay?” Willow asks, her easy smile flickering.

“Just—I need a minute,” says Tara somewhat dazedly, getting up from the table.

* * *

Not that she has a crush on Faith.

She doesn’t.

Crushes are something Tara’s never really understood, anyway. When she was little, she used to pick and choose boys to crush on, and she always sort of thought all the other girls did the same. They seemed to have a ready-made answer to the question, almost like it was some sort of test, so Tara made sure to study. The boys they all looked at had soft eyes and easy smiles. Puppy-dog boys, like Roy, so Tara _must_ be right to pick him.

She steps outside of the bar, stopping at the curb to look out at the empty street. When Roy comes out and pulls her into his arms, she doesn’t object. This is what she wants. This is what she’s supposed to have.

* * *

It’s not tense between her and Faith the next morning. It never is. Any kind of Roy-related strangeness is always put aside the next morning, and it’s comforting for Tara to know that there’s one part of her life that isn’t strange in a way she doesn’t understand. Not _always,_ at least.

“Willow has a girlfriend,” Tara tells Faith quietly as soon as Faith comes over to her desk.

Faith takes a jellybean. “So?” she says. There’s a sudden apprehension to her voice. “You’re my girlfriend. Buffy’s my girlfriend. We’ve all got girlfriends.”

“No, like—” Tara hesitates. “I-in a romantic way,” she says finally, and she’s beginning to think that she’s found another topic that’s strangely tense to talk about with Faith.

Faith nods, slowly, then, “Is that something you’re not cool with?”

“I’m cool with it!” Tara thinks she might have said this too loudly, or too high, because the entire office suddenly seems to be looking at them both. She turns pink. “I just—you know,” she mumbles, looking down at her hands. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I get that,” says Faith easily. “She did say _Fred._ ”

“Apparently it’s short for Winifred,” Tara explains with a little smile, thinking of Fred and her big eyes and feeling sort of _warm._ “She seems very nice.”

“Ooooh, T, you got a girl crush?” Faith teases lightly.

“ _No,_ ” says Tara, vehement and suddenly panicked. Faith’s smile fades. “No, I—no, she’s—dating someone, and I’m engaged—and I’m not—I mean, if you were—I don’t think—”

“Easy, Tara, I was kidding,” says Faith with unusual gentleness, and her hand brushes comfortingly against Tara’s shoulder. It’s a comforting gesture, but it makes panic rise in Tara’s chest that she can’t explain away. Faith’s touched her before. This time shouldn’t be any different. “What’s the matter, someone put too much sugar in your coffee?”

Tara shakes her head. There’s a lump in her throat. “No,” she says softly. “Just—it’s been weird. Lately. Things.” She waves a hand vaguely, and wishes she could be as immediately bubbly and talkative as Willow or Fred. Maybe then her life wouldn’t seem so much of a mixed-up mess when there wasn’t anything wrong to begin with.

Faith nods again. “I’m sorry,” she says. There’s no playfully sharp edge to her voice when she says it. Tara looks up in surprise, half-afraid that meeting Faith’s eyes will shatter the moment, but all she sees in those dark eyes is a quiet understanding.

Tara has the strangest urge, then, to lean across the counter and kiss Faith. It’s only a moment, because Faith awkwardly breaks the gaze and blurts something about having to get back to work, but she can’t shake the feeling. What would happen if she crossed the office, kissed Faith in front of the entire world? Stared down Angela and Roy with Faith’s hand in hers and Faith’s steely gaze fixed on them?

She doesn’t want to think about it. She knows she can’t afford to. Kissing Faith would change her life, and her life has to be good enough for her. It _is._

The thought lingers all day, and all night, and Roy doesn’t seem to even notice when Tara doesn’t stop by the warehouse for lunch.

* * *

Kissing Faith would be a mistake. That’s the inevitable conclusion Tara comes to over the weekend, over _every_ weekend for the next few months, and every Monday she comes back to work, and Faith’s smile lights up the office, and Tara thinks _maybe it wouldn’t be._

* * *

They set a date for the wedding, which is Tara’s one small comfort, because her life is falling into place the way it’s supposed to. Never mind that if she _were_ to be with Faith, she wouldn’t be leaving behind much of a fiancé; they’d been engaged for years and nothing’s come of it until now. Roy really just feels like her boyfriend, not something _more_ or _bigger_ just because he put a ring on Tara’s finger, and she doubts that’ll change when they get married in June.

But that’s what marriage is, really, just spending your life with someone who likes you. It’s not like fairytale romances are _really_ real. This is real life, and Tara is supposed to be happy in it.

Sometimes she feels like she’s wrong for the life she’s in, and she’s just waiting for someone to figure it out.

“All right?” someone asks, and Tara looks up to see a hesitant Wesley standing near her desk. She’s a bit taken aback by his concern; usually he’s focused completely and totally on his work to an obsessive degree. She wasn’t even sure if he knew her name.

“I’m okay,” she says lightly.

Wesley frowns a bit and nods, and then he says, “You look—tired.”

Tara shrugs noncommittally and looks over at Faith, who’s working on something or other at her desk, and who hasn’t RSVP’d to her wedding yet. “Probably just the light,” she replies with what she hopes is an easy smile. “These fluorescents,” she adds in a horrible imitation of Cordelia.

Wesley smiles back, still looking a bit perturbed, and heads back to his desk, at which point Faith jumps up like an eager puppy and runs over to reception. “What was _he_ doing here?” she demands in a low, laughing voice. “You got a new best friend in the office? I’m hurt, T, hurt.”

It’s easy to smile when Faith is looking at her like that. Tara tries not to think about why. “We all knew our friendship wasn’t meant to be,” she quips. “You wear too many leather jackets, and I’m a cardigan girl.”

“Reception and cardigans shouldn’t stop true friendship,” Faith persists playfully, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Tara’s ear. Tara all but forgets how to breathe.

“Hey,” Roy calls, and Tara feels a sudden spike of panic, as though she’s been caught doing something illicit. She doesn’t even bother to try and come up with an excuse for why she feels that way; she just kind of _knows_ now, even if she doesn’t like thinking about it. “Babe, we’re going out for a drink now.”

“Okay,” Tara agrees. She tries not to look at the badly-hidden disappointment on Faith’s face as she steps forward, kissing Roy. It feels wrong to do it while Faith’s watching. Not that Faith would return whatever strange feelings she has—that’s just out of the question—but she likes Faith in a way that’s not entirely platonic, and that’s not at all the way she feels about Roy.

Knowing someone she wants to kiss is there while she’s kissing someone she’s not so sure about isn’t a good feeling. Especially when the person she’s not sure about is her fiancé, and the person she _is_ sure about is a girl. Her family would be horrified. She’s sure the office would judge, wordlessly but still strongly. Roy—she doesn’t know _what_ he’d say, or if he’d hurt Faith for “turning Tara gay” or something stupid like that.

She’s suddenly very afraid, and she kisses Roy harder, tries to drown out the _wrong_ coursing through her. He pulls her close against him, and he’s breathing hard, clearly much more affected by the kiss than Tara is.

“Tara, _really,_ ” she hears Angela say reprovingly, which is enough to make her pull away. Because now the office’s seen her being too bold, and what does that say about her? What would they think if she walked in one day with Faith’s hand in hers? Or any other girl, really, if that’s what she wants so badly. Tara looks up at Roy and smiles at him, the simple, forced smile that he likes so much better than her real ones. He kisses her again and grins back, taking her hands in his.

She looks back at Faith, this time, turning her head ever so slightly as she leaves the office, and she’s not sure if it’s hoping or if she really saw it, but for a moment she thinks she sees unmasked sadness on Faith’s face.  

* * *

As it turns out, their HR rep Rupert Giles has his third wedding anniversary on Casino Night, and his wife comes into the office early to help set up the warehouse. Jenny’s a small, sarcastic woman who has the same biting smile as Faith, so it’s not much of a surprise to Tara when Faith immediately hits it off with her. She’s gotten good at reading people; it’s a talent that comes with her shyness. Being on the outskirts always gives a lot of time for observation.

The thing that keeps on striking Tara that day is the way her coworkers seem so _happy_ with the people they’re with. Fred comes down the warehouse steps wearing a backless dress, her hair up in a gorgeous twist, and Willow’s eyes are shining when they meet in the middle of the warehouse. Giles, who Tara rarely sees smile at any of his coworkers, _beams_ at Jenny whether or not she’s looking at him. And yeah, all these people seemed pretty happy to begin with, but their happiness seems effortless and easy when they’re with their partner.

“So you guys set a date?” Willow’s saying now, smiling warmly at Tara. She’s holding Fred’s hand, their fingers interlocked in a way Tara can’t imagine with Roy. “That’s so exciting! June weddings are always so romantic.”

“They are,” Jenny agrees. “Are you thinking indoors or outdoors?”

Tara wanted outdoors. “We decided indoors,” she says, and glances over at Roy, who’s playing some game she doesn’t know. Tara isn’t much of a gambler. “Roy says it’s a family tradition.”

Jenny’s smile changes a little, and she looks like she’s about to say something, but then Faith cuts in, coming over with a fistful of money. “Just kicked everyone’s ass in poker,” she informs Tara, “but I still haven’t played you yet. You ready for this?”

“I’ll see you all later,” Tara says to the couples, feeling some degree of relief at leaving them in their romantic bliss. It’s a little depressing to not be sure whether or not she has that. Or, no, to _know_ she doesn’t have it. But knowing you don’t have what you want means you have to go after what you need, and Tara doesn’t know if she’s ready to do that, so she’ll keep on saying she’s not sure until things become clearer.

Somehow.

Faith’s wearing a suit and tie, but she’s also wearing heels (“to comply with the bullshit dress code,” she explains), and her hand in Tara’s feels terrifyingly right as they walk up to one of the poker tables. Tara’s almost grateful for how heteronormative her workplace is, because she knows no one thinks anything of her friendship with Faith. Girl friends, not _girlfriends._

Poker is somehow both simpler and more confusing than Tara had expected, but Faith’s patient with her. Faith’s always patient with her, and it’s nice, because Roy never really is. He just expects things from her, and she does them. She’s not sure what’ll happen if she doesn’t.

“You’re bluffing,” Faith says confidently.

Tara isn’t, and she can’t hide her grin. “Am not,” she shoots back, and even flips her hair. She’s usually tying it back in the office, but she’s let it down for tonight.

“Oooh, she’s got sass,” Faith teases. “I’m goin’ all in.”

“You do that.”

“I will.” Faith meets Tara’s eyes with that same challenging look that always makes her look so beautiful. Tara lets herself think that, now, because there’s really no point in denying that she _does_ feel something for Faith. Something big and scary that she can’t ever act on, yes, but _something._

Of course Tara isn’t bluffing, and the exaggerated pout on Faith’s face is ridiculously charming. Tara’s glad she’s focusing on the game and not the gamble.

* * *

She wins, and she can’t stop teasing Faith about it, because Faith is just so dumbstruck by the concept of Tara tricking her. It feels strangely wonderful to be good at something.

“Aw, shut up, you’re good at lots of things,” Faith snorts as they walk through the parking lot. Roy had wanted to go home early. Tara hadn’t. “You draw great. You know that, right?”

“Just doodles,” says Tara, but she’s smiling too. Their hands are still joined; Faith hasn’t let go. Feeling braver than usual, she gently rubs her thumb against the back of Faith’s hand.

Faith stops walking. Takes a breath. Tara lets their hands drop, suddenly afraid that she’s crossed some kind of a line. “Look,” she says, raising her eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Tara nods, not trusting herself to speak.

Faith hesitates, looks down. Scuffs her high heels on the parking lot. She looks up again, looks straight into Tara’s eyes, as though trying to draw some sort of bravery from whatever she sees there. “I’m in love with you,” she says.

* * *

Tara forgets how to speak.

* * *

She can’t say a word. Faith hasn’t said anything either. It’s just them, in this too-quiet parking lot. Tara knows it’s her move, but she’s never been so scared in her life. This breaks all the rules. Everything she’s known could be gone in an instant if she reached out and kissed Faith right here.

Tara wants to kiss her.

Tara says, “Wh-what am I supposed to say to that?”

Faith breathes out. “I just needed you to know,” she says. “Once.”

The question isn’t _do you love her back,_ it’s _are you brave enough,_ and Tara doesn’t know if she is. She opens her mouth to say something (she doesn’t know what) but Faith has turned, going back down towards the warehouse.

This is where Tara is supposed to run after her.

She goes back inside instead. Back into the lobby, up the stairs. The walk is distracting, and putting one foot in front of another helps her concentrate on something that isn’t the fact that Faith Lehane is in love with her and she didn’t say _yes._ She’s scared. Too scared to make her life what she wants it to be, it seems, and that’s somehow worse than the possibility of losing Faith. What’ll she be if she marries Roy? Definitely not whatever Faith sees in her.

Willow’s still there, picking up her jacket. She looks up in surprise when Tara comes in. “Casino Night’s down _there,_ you know,” she begins playfully.

“I’m in love with Faith,” Tara says. She was expecting it to come out high and anxious, but instead it comes out like it is. A fact. Simple as _I’m Tara Maclay_ or _I don’t like being a receptionist_ or _I don’t want to marry Roy, but I’m too scared to say anything._ “I love her.”

Willow puts down her jacket. “Oh, Tara,” she says with soft sympathy. There’s no judgment in her eyes. “What’ll you do?”

“I don’t know,” says Tara, sitting back down at the desk. It doesn’t make her feel any better. This is the place where she fell in love with Faith, a little more every day. “I should marry Roy, shouldn’t I?”

“Not—” Willow falters. “Not if you don’t love him.”

“He’s what I’m supposed to love,” Tara says. Her voice breaks. “This is who I’m supposed to be.”

“If you’re who you’re supposed to be,” Willow says, soft and thoughtful, “then you’re happy with your life.” She picks up the jacket again and walks out of the office, turning once at the door to say, “I think you know what you have to do.”

Tara does and she doesn’t. She stands up from the desk, missing her mother, who she would have liked to call right now. She feels isolated and scared, and she isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do.

The door opens again. Tara’s half-expecting Willow, but it’s not.

Faith steps in, walking slowly in her high heels. Her dark eyes are fixed with that emotion that Tara now knows is love, and she’s never seen so _much_ of it, nor has she known that it’s for her. But it can’t be, not for her, not from _Faith;_ she can’t possibly be that lucky. “Faith,” she begins, taking a step towards her. “I—”

Faith kisses her.

* * *

Maybe if Faith had been a guy, it would have been different. Maybe if Faith hadn’t kissed Tara, it would have been different. But kissing Faith is like waking up. Tara’s hyperaware to every detail of the kiss—the way Faith’s arms slide around her waist, the way Tara gets to cup Faith’s face in her hands like she’s always, _always_ wanted to, the way their noses bump as they pull apart. Faith tries to step back, but Tara kisses her again, hard and desperate. This could be the only time she ever kisses Faith, and she damn well intends to make the most of it.

Faith _really_ pulls back this time, breathing hard, staring at her with wide, teary eyes. Tara’s never seen Faith cry. Not once. “Tara,” she says, her voice shaking. “Please—”

“I’m never going to leave you,” says Tara, and the moment she says it, she knows it’s true. She thought she couldn’t leave Roy because of what the world wants, but she can’t leave Faith because she loves Faith. Willow’s right. She knows what to do.

“You—”

“I love you,” says Tara. It feels like her whole heart’s just been put in Faith’s hands, and she doesn’t know how Faith ever managed to tell her. “I’m not marrying Roy. I love you.” She laughs, once, and for the first time, it feels easy. “I _love_ you!” she says, and almost starts crying again.

Faith kisses her, and it’s clumsy and gorgeous. Every kind of right.

Tara pulls away again, laughing and crying at the same time. “Okay, okay, we have to tell Roy,” she’s saying. “We have to—tell him _something._ I don’t know. I’m not going back there tonight.”

Faith doesn’t seem to hear what Tara’s saying, and when Tara looks back at her, the look on Faith’s face makes her breath catch. Faith looks like she’s looking at the moon and the stars for the first time, eyes wide, breath soft and shaking. “You’re gonna call off your wedding,” she says, small and disbelieving. “For me.”

“For you,” Tara agrees, and suddenly it’s so _easy_ to be brave, because she wants Faith to believe her when she says _I love you._ “Anything, anything.” She kisses Faith again, this one short and sweet. “We’ll go downstairs and I’ll—tell him. I will.”

Faith stares at her, eyes bright. “I can’t—” She laughs, sniffles. “You have _no_ idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me too,” says Tara, and kisses Faith again, just because she can.

* * *

She doesn’t marry Roy, but she keeps her job at Dunder Mifflin. It’s nice to work with the person you’re dating, especially if that person’s Faith Lehane, prankster, paper saleswoman, and probably the love of Tara’s life.

“ _If_ I play my cards right,” says Faith, and gives Tara a winning smile.

“You’re a nightmare,” says Tara lovingly, and kisses her on the cheek.


End file.
